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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22378252">Sometimes It's Easier to Forget</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaggicSorceress/pseuds/MaggicSorceress'>MaggicSorceress</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Maggic's Undertale Human AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Undertale (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Agoraphobia, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amnesia, Child Abuse, Claustrophobia, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Error has too many feelings, Error's mental health is shit, Fluff and Angst, Haphephobia, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Ink and Error have issues, Ink doesn't deal with his feelings, Ink has none, It gets kinda heavy ngl, Kenophobia, M/M, Narcolepsy, Schizophrenia, and made them modern, and realistic i guess?, basically i took their backstories, emotionless ink</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 15:14:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,481</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22378252</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaggicSorceress/pseuds/MaggicSorceress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ink and Error are two sides of the same coin. Upon their first meeting, they loath each other and how completely different they are.<br/>Or are they?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Error/Ink, Ink/Error, Sans/Sans (Undertale)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Maggic's Undertale Human AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623928</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>96</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Colours (Ink's Prologue)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He had to wait.<br/>That's all he knew.<br/>The colours would come back eventually.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <em>I heard a glass shatter on the wall in the apartment above mine</em> </strong>
</p><p>The only noise right now was the occasional beeping coming from somewhere ahead of him, but even that faded in and out with his concentration. Everything felt muted. Every noise, every intake of air, every brush of his jacket along his bare arms. His legs were pulled up to his chest, chin resting on them as he stared, but never registered, the room in front of him. It felt like he had been sitting there for days, never uncurling, never eating anything. He wondered if he was trapped in some sort of time loop. Nothing changed and everything repeated, like the beeping.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>At first, I thought that I was dreaming</em> </strong>
</p><p>People walked in and out of the room but never paid him any mind. He recognised their forms, but their faces seemed to blur. He thought the room smelt bad too, something off-putting and slightly rotten, but it never stuck around long enough to pinpoint what it was or where it was coming from.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>But then I heard the voice of a girl and it sounded like she’d been crying</em> </strong>
</p><p>The people walking to and from the room spoke too. Occasionally, he would grasp words and phrases, but the majority of the time their words were jumbled, like multiple people speaking over each other at once. He didn’t bother trying to talk to anyone, or to get up and leave. He had been here before, something in him knew, so he just had to wait. For what exactly, he wasn’t sure. He just had to wait.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Now I’m too worried to be sleeping</em> </strong>
</p><p>So, he did. For minutes, hours, days, he wasn’t sure. Time passed oddly here, and a part of him kept longing for the routine of things to fade and for him to wake up. Wake up? Was he asleep? No, he didn’t think so. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept. A memory? From when? He didn’t remember this room or the strange people that walked it, or the ever-present beeping and the unpleasant smell. It smelt different now too, more like burnt rubber than rotting meat. It was not any nicer to smell, but like the previous one it too faded quickly.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>So, I took the elevator to the second floor</em> </strong>
</p><p>Uncontrollably, his legs moved and lifted him from his seat. ___ walked, unable not to, to a curtained off area near the back of the room. He hadn’t noticed it before. When he reached out a hand to barely brush it along the long pale curtain, a whisper of a voice infiltrated his foggy mind, clear and precise. ‘No.’ The voice in his mind commanded him. ‘Do not look. It is not for your eyes.’ He turned and walked the other way, not sparing the voice even a second of thought.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Walked down the hall and then I knocked upon her door</em> </strong>
</p><p>On the opposite side of the room, there was a door, which he walked over to as well. He had barely reached for the handle before the voice spoke again. ‘Do not leave.’ The voice whispered again, and he could almost feel it like a breath of air against his ear. ‘It is not safe for you out there.’ What is safe? He couldn’t help but think. What did it feel like? He couldn’t remember.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>She opened up and I asked about the things I’ve been hearing</em> </strong>
</p><p><em>Safe</em>. The word sounded nice enough, but what did it entail? An illusion of a memory flickered in his mind. Something warm and gentle against his skin. What was warm again? The opposite of cold, but what made it warm? If one never knew cold, how could one know warmth? He pondered, turning back to his chair. He sat and pondered all sorts of things with his fuzzy memory. ___ wondered what a memory was and why it was important. Wondered why he <em>had </em>to remember. What did he have to remember?</p><p>
  <strong> <em>She said</em> </strong>
</p><p>Something. He had to remember something, something important. It was important, wasn’t it? Would he have forgotten if it was? What did it mean when something was important, again? So, he didn’t remember, and he didn’t try to. He was here to wait. That’s what he had to do. He didn’t remember what he was waiting for, but it didn’t matter. He had to wait.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“I think your ears are playing tricks on you.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>As he watched the people scuttle past once again, ___ sat in silence. Not even the voice in his mind making itself know. His skin tingled, like tiny droplets of cold water were raining down on him in a pleasant numbing sort of way. He felt nothing, no discomfort, no impatience. He wasn’t sure he even remembered what those things were. What it felt like to <em>feel</em>, or if he ever had. He knew words, and words were all he had. But he couldn’t trust words. Whatever ‘trust’ meant.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Sweater zipped up to her chin</em> </strong>
</p><p>‘Belief.’ The voice said, a quiet answer to his unasked question. ‘It’s when you believe in someone, and what they tell you.’ What is belief? What is its purpose?</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“Thanks for caring sir, that’s nice of you</em> </strong>
</p><p>‘Hope.’ And what was hope? ‘Warm.’ Warm? There was that word again, shaking free the illusion caged in his mind. <em>Warm</em>, like a blanket or a fire. <em>Warm</em>, like the sun on his skin or the colour orange. <em>Orange</em>. <em>Orange eyes, a sunset, slowly dimming like the light of day.</em> <em>Orange, the colour of life</em>. The thought was intense, bringing about a wave of something that made his back tense. But he felt nothing, even as he tried to remember what that orange had <em>looked</em> like.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>But I have to go back in.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>The longer he sat, the more ___ wanted to remember. Craved it. He wanted to fit those missing pieces together in his mind and make sense of everything. It didn’t matter, it wasn’t pressing, he didn’t need it, but all the same he <em>wanted</em> it. Knowledge. He wanted to know why he was in the room, even if he knew he wouldn’t remember the answer.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“Wish I could tell you about the noise, but I didn’t hear a thing.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>‘It’s dangerous out there.’ The voice spoke again. Why?</p><p>
  <strong> <em>She said</em> </strong>
</p><p>‘Because the world is cruel to those it forgets.’</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“It must have been the wind.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>The words echoed in his brain, tickling something he was urged to remember.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Must have been the wind</em> </strong>
</p><p>But <em>what was it?</em></p><p>
  <strong> <em>Must have been the wind</em> </strong>
</p><p>Why was orange so important? Why was warmth? What did these words <em>mean</em>? What did they hold to him?</p><p>
  <strong> <em>It must have been the wind</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Why couldn’t he remember?</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>She said</em> </strong>
</p><p>A lady entered the room from the door, dressed all in white as if she meant to blend in with the room around him. As she walked past him, ___ got up to follow her, muscles moving as if an outside force commanded them to.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“It must have been the wind.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>She pulled back the curtain and he sat on the bed. Someone else was on it too, but they were blurred so much that he couldn’t tell who he was looking at. It was <em>wrong</em>. The bed sheets clung to him, not wanting to let go<em>.</em></p><p>
  <strong> <em>Must have been the wind </em> </strong>
</p><p>Smoothly, as if she’d done this a million times, she pressed a needle into the vein of his arm. Colourful swirling liquid passing into his body. He shuddered.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Must have been the wind</em> </strong>
</p><p>Then, she smiled at him, wide and unnerving as if she was picking him apart piece by piece. “Welcome back, Ink.” He took a moment, feeling the drugs seep through his veins before he stood up, bouncing on his feet. It felt like a breath of fresh air, like he was <em>alive </em>again. He looked up at her with wide grey eyes, smiling.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>It must have been the wind</em> </strong>
</p><p>“It’s good to be back!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, here's something new.<br/>I thought up this idea a few days ago and my imagination has been running wild!<br/>That being said, this is a lot darker than the stuff I normally write, and if you came here for Errorink right off the bat then I'm sorry to say you might be waiting a while.<br/>It will happen though, I promise. These boys just have to get their own shit together first.<br/>Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Comments and kudos are always appreciated! Tell me your thoughts on this! I wanna hear the theories :3<br/>P.S: The song is 'Must Have Been the Wind' by Alec Benjamin.<br/>-Maggic</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Basket Case (Error's Prologue)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He wasn't crazy.<br/>If only his parents would believe that.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>WARNING: Not super graphic depictions, but definitely child abuse.<br/></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <em>Do you have the time</em> </strong>
</p><p>The clock ticking ominously in the quiet of the waiting room felt like someone breathing down the back of Error’s neck. Watching his every move, analysing him, and he had to fight the urge to nervously wring his hands or allow his leg to shake. His mother wouldn’t like that. After all, they were waiting to hear some <em>very</em> important news. The results had come in today, and Error was a mess of fear and nervousness.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>To listen to me whine</em> </strong>
</p><p><em>‘I’m not crazy.’</em> He mentally reminded himself for the umpteenth time that morning. <em>‘They’re not going to find anything, there’s nothing wrong with me.’</em></p><p>{Sure there isn’t.}</p><p>{I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.}</p><p>Gritting his teeth, Error ignored the voices. This was the <em>worst</em> time for them to rear their ugly heads. He preoccupied himself by fiddling with the hem of his shirt, wanting to do something with his hands.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>About nothing and everything all at once?</em> </strong>
</p><p>The lady at the front desk called to them, and his mother practically dragged him from his seat by the arm. Error fought down the urge to jerk away from her grasp. It felt like needles in his skin. They followed the lady back to one of the far rooms that Error thought smelt vaguely of disinfectant and cherry lollipops, where they sat in another pair of seats. The doctor walked in, a fairly young man who didn’t look older than 30, flipping through a few white pieces of paper.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>I am one of those</em> </strong>
</p><p>{I wonder what’s on those.}</p><p>The doctor looked up at him and smiled. “How are you doing today, Error?” He asked him. Error practically jumped just from the question; he was so high-strung.</p><p>“M’ fine…” He said into the scarf around his neck, not willing to look up at the man. Luckily, the doctor seemed to notice his discomfort and nervousness.</p><p>“You have nothing to worry about, Mrs.” He addressed his mother. “Your son is perfectly healthy up there.” He tapped his head to emphasise his point. “He’s still young, his brain is still changing and growing, it’s not very unusual for children to think they hear voices or have imaginary friends.”</p><p><em>‘But they’re not imaginary.’</em> Error thought, though he knew better than to say. His mother let out a sigh of relief next to him.</p><p>“Thank you so much.” She said, getting up to shake the doctor’s hand. “It’s just…I’ve been so worried…”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Melodramatic fools</em> </strong>
</p><p>“It’s not a problem at all, ma’am. If this persists into his teen years, however, bring him back and we'll test him again.” The doctor said, leading them back out of the room. When they left the clinic, Error’s mother ruffled his hair and promised him ice cream on the way home.</p><p>“You tell your mother what’s going on in that brain of yours, okay?” She said as he opened the car door to get in. He nodded in response to her question, even though he knew he wouldn’t.</p><p>~</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Neurotic to the bone, no doubt about it</em> </strong>
</p><p>When Error returned home from school a few weeks later, he had a pounding headache and much more work than he would have liked to have. He felt more irritated and annoyed than he ever had. The voices were <em>loud</em> today, incessantly pestering him all hours of his school day to the point where he couldn’t focus on anything else <em>except</em> for the voices. His teachers had yelled at him four times to stop spacing out.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Sometimes I give myself the creeps</em> </strong>
</p><p><em>‘Can you all just…be quiet for a few hours so I can do my work?’</em> Error pleaded in his brain.</p><p>{Awww but Error!}</p><p>{Haha nope!}</p><p>{But why? We’re having fun!}</p><p>{What are you gonna do about it?}</p><p>Error, on the verge of crying from a mixture of pain and frustration, didn’t notice his mother knocking on his door until she came in.</p><p>“Hi sweetie!” She greeted him as usual, placing a quick kiss on his cheek. “How was school?” He tried to listen to her above the voices, that were now bickering, in his head and found it harder than usual. Still, he could guess what she was asking him.</p><p>“It was fine.” He responded. “Nothing interesting or new.” She gave him a concerned look, brushing a hand through his dark hair.</p><p>“Are you sure?” She said, crouching down to his level. “You seem tense.”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me</em> </strong>
</p><p>Error shrugged, having a miniature debate with himself over whether or not he should try to explain the voices to his mother again, but that didn’t go over so well last time, so he decided against it.</p><p>“I’m okay.” He reassured her. “I just have a lot of homework to get done.” She nodded at that, accepting his answer.</p><p>“Well, that’s alright then.” She said. “Your father and I won’t bother you. He has some people from work coming over for dinner, so if you want to hang out down here it’s not that big of a deal.”</p><p>She worded it sweetly enough, but Error knew she didn’t want him coming upstairs that evening. Not with his father’s coworkers being over. So, he nodded.</p><p>“I’ll just stay down here tonight.” He said. She smiled at him, placing a kiss to his forehead before turning to leave. She looked over her shoulder.</p><p>“I’ll bring you down some dinner once it’s ready.”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>It all keeps adding up</em> </strong>
</p><p>True to his word, when Error heard the tell-tale footfalls of his father’s workmates wander up the stairs, he stayed in his room and continued to work futilely at his homework. His mother had brought down his dinner about half an hour ago, the remains sat cold on a plate on the table by his bed. He would have, he figured, been able to hear the conversation that was being held upstairs at the dinner table had the voices in his head not increased in intensity.</p><p>{I’m telling you; the answer is 41!}</p><p>{No, it isn’t!}</p><p>{You dummy! You have to do BEDMAS}</p><p>{Shut <em>up</em> you guys!}</p><p>Error sighed loudly, rubbing at his head in a vain attempt to sooth the splitting headache he was experiencing. When he tried to go back to his work, a spike of rage surged through him.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>I think I’m cracking up </em> </strong>
</p><p><em>‘It’s not fair.’ </em>He thought, glaring at his worksheet as the voices continued to pester him loudly. Then, like a string snapping, he screamed. He put every ounce of frustration, every minuscule amount of confusion, every bit of <em>anger</em> he had in him into the scream and threw his workbook against his wall with a loud <strong>bang</strong>. The voices quieted, until there were at least half as many, and they were down to the faintest of murmurs. Error let out a sigh of relief and slunk down to his bed, just as his mother and father came storming into his room.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Am I just paranoid?</em> </strong>
</p><p>“What the hell is going on in here?!” His father fumed, glancing over his room before glaring at him. “Haven’t you grown out of tantrums? You’re almost fourteen!”</p><p>“I-I’m sorry, I ju-just-“ Error stumbled, rising off of his bed to try to grab his thrown workbook. His father blocked his way.</p><p>“No.” His father commanded, voice like ice. “<em>What</em> had gotten into you today? And no lies! You’ve already derailed this evening enough with your racket.”</p><p>Error shifted on his feet, refusing to meet his father’s glare and his mother’s disappointed stare.</p><p>{It’s not going to make a difference, whether you tell them or not.}</p><p>He swallowed harshly. “It’s just…the voices…they’re so loud and they don’t stop and they <em>haven’t stopped </em>all day and I just want some quiet so I can get my work done but-“ His ranting was cut off by a sharp pain in his cheek and a loud smack. His ears rang and tears clouded his eyes.</p><p>“I’ve had enough of your nonsense!” His father said, fuming. “You’re far too old to be using your imaginary friends as excuses for your despicable behaviour!”</p><p>“They’re not imaginary!” Error defended through tears, trying not to sob. “I can <em>hear </em>them dad! They’re not fake!” Instead of hitting him again, which was what Error expected, his father grabbed him by the arm and hauled him from his room.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Or am I just stoned?</em> </strong>
</p><p>“There is <em>nothing wrong with you</em>.” His father said harshly. He towed him through the downstairs area until he reached the back corner of one of their guest rooms. In said corner, there was a small doorway that lead to a crammed storage space under the staircase. His father opened it, still holding him roughly by the arm. “I’m sick and tired of your childish behaviour! You can come out when you’re ready to be a mature young man.” Then, he began dragging Error over to the door. Hit by a sudden wave of panic, Error began yelling again.</p><p>“No!” He cried, struggling against his father’s grip. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I won’t do it again! Mom! Mom! Please!” His mother only watched in quiet resignation. With one final tug, Error was forced into the crammed crawl space, head nearly bashing against the tiny door frame. With a huff, his father shut the door and plunged him into darkness. The only thing he heard before silence enveloped him was the turning of a key in the door’s lock.</p><p>He continued to scream, hands banging against the door as tears streamed heavily down his cheeks. The voices were screaming too, most in anger, some in sadness, as the suffocating darkness clamped down on him. Error yelled until his voice was raw and kept yelling after that. At some point, he wasn’t sure how long he’d been screaming, someone came down the stairs and begun banging on the one just above his head. He yelped, the sudden loud noise sounding much more violent in the darkness and sobbed harder. When his screaming finally died away, he sat in the crowded darkness, silently letting his tears fall.</p><p>A while after that, the small door Error was leaning against clicked and was pulled open. The sudden invasion of light had him squinting, but he was thankful, nonetheless. His father’s face peered in, tired and apologetic. “Are you ready to behave now?” He asked him.</p><p>Error, knowing his voice was run too raw to form a dignified response, nodded and climbed out of the small room. His father sighed, brushing a hair out of Error’s eyes. “Good. Because I don’t want to have to do that again.”</p><p>Despite what he said, it wasn’t the last time that Error was thrown in that room.</p><p>Not by a long shot.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alright here's my take on a modern version of Error's backstory!<br/>I had some help from my friend, because I wanted to make their stories as opposite from each other as I could, while still keeping them similar in a strange way.<br/>Anyway, yeah! Hope you guys enjoyed!<br/>-Maggic</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. It's strange, feeling something you're not able to have a say over</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ink does some reminiscing and ends up in an awkward situation.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>We can go to my house if you wanna</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>Ink…didn’t remember much about his childhood.</p>
<p>He didn’t remember what his name had been, his birthday, or who his family was. All thanks to an accident that took place when he was around twelve years old. He didn’t know what the accident was, he didn’t remember, and he didn’t remember what he had been told. The only thing he knew for certain were the end results:</p>
<p>His entire family had been killed, his mother, father, and younger brother. All of them, except for him.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Hang out in my bedroom</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>He had expected to feel…something when he went to the funeral. But how could you miss someone you didn’t remember knowing?</p>
<p>His memory came back, gradually, and there were still bits and pieces missing, and he still had a hard time remembering some things.</p>
<p>It was strange how small things, insignificant in the long run, could break him so thoroughly.</p>
<p>Like the smile his mother gave him when he made her laugh, the feeling of his father patting his head whenever he made him proud, the first time his baby brother had said his name…</p>
<p>A name that no longer felt like it belonged to him.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Lose your </em>
  </strong>
  <b>
    <em>honour</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>They were <em>gone</em>, and had been for a long time.</p>
<p>But that didn’t make remembering any easier.</p>
<p>It took two years after the accident for his memory to start returning, patchy as it was. Sometimes he’d wake up in the middle of the night, crying out for a mother who’s name died on his lips. The nightmare’s hurt, sure, but sometimes it was the more pleasant memories that cut deeper.</p>
<p>A nice dream, a beautiful memory, of him and his family eating together and talking over the dinner table, had him waking up to an empty house and a deep sense of longing in his gut, and he’d cry for a family he barely remembered having.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Even if they find us, we’re apathetic</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>It was awful. He often longed for the memories to stay forgotten, so that it wouldn’t hurt anymore.</p>
<p>He didn’t want to hurt anymore.</p>
<p>He just wanted to be numb to it, be the happy person his friends always saw him as.</p>
<p>He hadn’t meant to get addicted, but he had.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>And they can’t take that away</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>If you could find the right person, codeine was surprisingly easy to get. Ink had been lucky enough to stumble upon someone who was willing to get it for him. It wasn’t cheap, but Ink wasn’t about to admit that he had gotten a job at fifteen to fund an addiction. Especially since he was a minor.</p>
<p>The woman didn’t seem to care. According to her, she had seen far too much in her life for something like this to faze her.</p>
<p>She was arrested when he was seventeen and Ink lost his dealer.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>I take my pills and I’m happy all the time</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>It was around that time that he started—or rather was forced to—working through the addiction. He tried to get more, don’t get him wrong, he didn’t give up over night, but the thing about codeine was that it was only prescribed if you were injured. Or if you had chronic pain.</p>
<p>For a long time, after his pills would run out, he would resort to doing stupid and impulsive things in the hopes that he would get hurt and wind up in the hospital. Ink had, had more broken bones than he had bones in his body.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>I’m happy all the time</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>Dream and Blue got angry at him quite a few times for being so reckless, but even they were pretty powerless to stop him. He got used to the pain, and it was fleeting anyway. They didn’t know the reasoning behind it, no one did, they just thought that was how he was, how he’d always been.</p>
<p>Ink didn’t want them to know that he only ever felt like himself when he took it.</p>
<p>At one point, he wasn’t sure he was even able to smile without it.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>I’m happy all the time</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>But then…something changed. Something in him changed.</p>
<p>Or, rather, <em>someone</em> made him want to change.</p>
<p>The boy was quiet, usually, and only spoke when he had to. He wandered the halls between breaks with his headphones in, keeping a spacious distance between himself and anyone else that was wandering.</p>
<p>Blue said nothing but good things about him, but Blue was new, and he didn’t understand.</p>
<p>He didn’t know that side of Error like he did.</p>
<p>Error saw through him, and that’s what Ink hated.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>I love my girl but she ain’t worth the price</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>He never took him seriously, never returned his patient smile with anything more than an annoyed frown. As if he was peering through the delicately crafted mask that Ink wore every day. As if he was tearing into his mind with his eyes alone.</p>
<p>Ink hated those eyes.</p>
<p>If only how they compared to his own. Someone so bland and cut off from the world shouldn’t have such vibrant eyes.</p>
<p>No, Error was gray.</p>
<p>Gray and dull.</p>
<p>Ink’s own eyes would have suited him more.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>She ain’t worth the price</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>Ink could never understand him and some of the things he would do. Error was <em>clearly</em> happy on his own, so why would he make an effort to follow Blue around? To hang out with him when he didn’t want to?</p>
<p>It wasn’t because he was nice. That Ink knew for certain.</p>
<p>He was so opposite to him. In the way he thought, the way he acted, the way he carried himself.</p>
<p>Where Ink ran, Error walked. They were always contradicting each other, never able to meet on the same page.</p>
<p>And Ink hated it, because never before had there been someone that he couldn’t get to like him.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>No, she ain’t worth the price</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>Ink was funny, he was bright and talented and full of life. People were drawn to him because of that, people wanted to be friends with him because of that. <strike>It was part of the reason he kept taking the pills.</strike></p>
<p>But Error wouldn’t be swayed. He kept his distance like he did with everyone, never quite becoming friends with the people in his grade, but never being disliked by any of them.</p>
<p>Except for Ink, that was.</p>
<p>How someone could stand to live in the background was beyond Ink.</p>
<p>But Error was sure as hell trying hard to.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>The voices in my right brain are kinda funny</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>Error…was a mystery to him.</p>
<p>Ink wouldn’t say he was fascinated, or even obsessed like Dream called him, but Error…intrigued him. He made Ink want to figure out every single detail about why the other acted the way he did. Why Error would suddenly leave the class at different intervals during the day, only to reappear half an hour later, or why he always walked along the lockers in the hallway, and never directly in the middle.</p>
<p>Ink was curious, and having something else to focus his attention on made battling his addiction the barest bit easier, that’s all.</p>
<p>That’s all he meant for it to be anyway.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>They tell me ‘take a deep breath</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>Then again, nothing in Ink’s life ever went the way he wanted it to.</p>
<p>He didn’t expect to grow <em>attached</em> to his former self-proclaimed enemy.</p>
<p>And he certainly hadn’t expected <em>this</em>.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>It’s always sunny’</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>The thing about Grad parties was that everyone was invited. That, and games that were better to play when you were drunk off your ass happened.</p>
<p>Games such as the notorious ‘7 Minutes in Heaven’, or ‘Spin the Bottle’.</p>
<p>On any normal occasion, Ink would have refused to play either, but he <em>had</em> had a few drinks, and he <em>was</em> feeling a little adventurous. At least, he <em>was</em> feeling adventurous, until he wound up being shoved into a closet with a very reluctant Error, who didn’t even want to play in the first place, and there was only a few scant inches of space between them in the darkened and cramped space.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>But where I leave the lights on</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>Ink was expecting it to be awkward, silent even. What he <em>wasn’t </em>expecting was for Error to proceed to have a colossal meltdown the <em>second</em> the closet doors refused to open. Apparently, the people he was playing it with were very adamant about adhering to the seven-minute rule.</p>
<p>But Error was having a <em>goddamn panic attack.</em></p>
<p>His breath was coming in sharp, quick gasps, hands pressing against the closet doors with a desperate urgency—if the doors did suddenly open, Error would most likely fall flat on his face from the force which he was exerting on them—and he almost seemed to be…whimpering?</p>
<p>No, that wasn’t right. Even in the dark of the closet, Ink could tell.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>It’s so obvious that my life’s pretty plain</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>Error was <em>sobbing</em>.</p>
<p>Which was something Ink never thought Error could do, and something, he thought, he would never see. But Error was, as much as he tried to conceal it with his head hanging low.</p>
<p>Quiet as the sounds were, Error’s entire frame shook with the emotion behind it, and Ink felt tempted to reach out and place a hand on his back, or shout for someone to let them out. He knew they wouldn’t be let out until the seven minutes passed though, and that the touch wouldn’t be appreciated now.</p>
<p>It never was, after all, and Error was too high strung for Ink to want to pester him.</p>
<p>Rather, he felt kind of <em>sorry</em> for him.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>I take my pills and I’m happy all the time</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p><em>“P-lease…pleasepleaseplease…”</em> Error rasped, barely a whisper and thick with emotion, as he continued to claw desperately at the doors.</p>
<p>“H-hey…” Ink started, not sure what he should be doing in this situation. “It’s okay, you’re fine.”</p>
<p>His words fell on deaf ears as Error’s hands slipped from the doors and he begun hyperventilating, choosing instead to grab at the sides of his head and stagger backwards. When his back met the closet wall, Error’s legs crumpled beneath him and he slid down the wall to the floor with a thud. His knees came up to his chest and he buried his face in them. Ink, now feeling quite a bit concerned but no less awkward, knelt next to him.</p>
<p><em>“I can’t breathe…”</em> Error said through his rapid breaths. <em>“I c-c-ca-can’t…”</em></p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Happy all the time</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>“You can.” Ink said, trying to be soothing. “You can, you’re just having a panic attack.”</p>
<p><em>“L-let me ou-t…please.</em>” Error said, voice pitching into a high whine. <em>“Let me o-out!”</em></p>
<p>“They’ll let us out, but not until seven minutes are up.” Ink said. “We’ll get out, but we have to wait a little bit.” When Error’s sobs only increased in volume, Ink worried his lip. Slowly, he moved so he was kneeling in front of where Error sat, his own back pressed tightly against the doors of the closet to avoid having their legs touching. Ink took a breath.</p>
<p>“Hey, look at me.” Ink said. “Look at me, Error, I’m right here with you. You’re not alone, we’re not trapped, we just have to wait, okay? Breathe, Error, you know you can.” Error gave a shaky breath, but refused to lift his head. Ink took this as a sign to continue, so he did.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>I’m happy all the time</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>“Just…listen to my voice and breathe, okay? That’s all you have to do.” Ink murmured. “Don’t focus on anything else, don’t worry about anything else. I’m right here; you’re not alone, okay?”</p>
<p>It was strange to have to comfort <em>Error </em>of all people but, oddly, Ink didn’t find it as awkward the more he continued. As if the words <em>‘I’m right here, I’m right here with you’</em> were resonating as much within himself as they were his…friend?...not quite…companion maybe? Like every soothing word he muttered bounced around in his soul before spilling from his lips, leaving his own chest feeling warmer and lighter than it had in years.</p>
<p>He wasn’t aware of how much Error’s mood had been affecting him until he heard the other’s breathing even out and caught himself smiling.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>I love my girl but she ain’t worth the price</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>“There…see? You’re okay, we’re okay.” Ink said. “We’ll be out of here in no time.”</p>
<p>When Error let out a small, wet sounding, laugh and looked up at him with shiny, yet swollen, golden eyes, something in Ink’s chest tightened painfully. Absently, and curiously, he raised a hand and pressed it to his chest. <em>What was that about?</em></p>
<p>“S-sorry…” Error hiccuped. Ink’s chest behaved funny at that too, and he pressed his hand harder against it in retribution. “Sorry you h-ad to s-see th-that.”</p>
<p>Ink felt his grin twitch upwards and chose to look at the ground they were sitting on instead of at Error. “It’s alright. I’m glad you’re feeling a little better now.”</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>She ain’t worth the price</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>The silence was awkward for a moment before Error spoke again. “You’re…you’re not gonna…?”</p>
<p>“Ask?” Ink finished. He shrugged and shook his head. “It’s not really my business. If you want me to know, I’ll listen. But I feel like this is something you don’t want to talk about.”</p>
<p>“Not really…” Error mumbled. “I just…have really bad claustrophobia.”</p>
<p>Ink snickered. “I couldn’t tell.”</p>
<p>“Yeah…” Error said, laughing a little himself. “…hey, Ink?”</p>
<p>“Hm?”</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>No, she ain’t worth the price</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>“When this closet opens, do you think you could…not…”</p>
<p>Ink smiled and, feeling a little playful now that Error had calmed down, nudged Error’s leg a little with his hand.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry, Glitchy.” Ink said. “What happens in the closet, stays in the closet.”</p>
<p>When Error laughed, Ink’s heart did something funny again, but he chose to ignore it when the closet doors opened up behind him and he fell backwards onto the hardwood.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So this sort of...happened. Sorry I haven't touched this for so long, but I'm not entirely sure where I'm gonna go with it. <br/>It's gonna be slow burn, that's for sure, and I'm definitely going to touch more on Ink working through this addiction he's gotten himself into, and of course Error battling his own fears, but i dont have much of a plan atm so sorry if the updates for this are scarce. <br/>Regardless, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Comments and kudos are always appreciated! &lt;3<br/>-Maggic</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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